


First of Many

by InterNutter



Series: When Irish Eyes Are Smiling [7]
Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: F/M, Father/Daughter Bonding, Sexism, Slut-Shaming, Victorian Attitudes, recovery from transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1298023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterNutter/pseuds/InterNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All family traditions start somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First of Many

Disclaimer: Steam Powered Giraffe belongs to the Bennetts. I just do very silly things with their characters.

First of Many

InterNutter

  Peter looked. Flat. Not... well... curved. Like a lady's -er- visible frontage. Darn it. He was just getting used to thinking of Rabbit as a 'she'. He wasn't quite ready to see it.  
  Not yet.  
  He could not make himself create the exterior... she... wanted.  
  Not yet.  
  But what he could do -and he knew he was doing it- was create excuses.  
  "Rabbit... I'm sorry. You're only a year old. You're still very... young. It's considered normal for a lady to grow her... outward attributes... at eighteen[1]. I think that it's reasonable that we wait a little while. See if you're determined to go through with this."  
  "I know who I am, Pappy. 'Sides, y-y-y-y-you made us all as adults."  
  "I am aware," he said. "There's also the matter of... public presentation. You're a public figure, Rabbit. People know you and you have a certain image to maintain. They're not going to appreciate a sudden and abrupt change like that."  
  "But we're machines. What's it matter if we got different bits?"  
  "Tell you what. Next show, I'll get Four to listen to everything the audience says about it. You'll all have different faces and different looks. I fully expect some... resistance and hostility." He gently cleaned the oil from Rabbit's face. "And if they react that way to a little upgrade like that - how would they react to your complete overhaul?"  
  Rabbit fell silent for some time. "I hear some of 'em t-t-talkin'. They d-don't like us anyway. But they pay t' see us play. I had a lady come up after a show t' shake my ha-hand an' tell me w-w-w-we did g-good fer a bunch'a fre-fre-fre-fre-fre-freaks."  
  "That was a hurtful thing to say in more ways than one," he acknowledged. "Sometimes I wonder if I can quit the human race..."  
  "I can't even join," said Rabbit. "Now it's lookin' like a g-good thing."  
  "Just so," he patted Rabbit's chest-plates. "Shall we get on with this? I think you'll like them, anyway."  
  Rabbit glared at them. Sighed. "Y-y-yeah. Fix me up, Pappy."  
  
  Dear Miss Green, Rabbit wrote. Turns out dreams don't always come true. Those upgrades were just stuff to make us look more human and have a little more. I was sad about not looking all that different.  
  Ma says I can wear what I like in my room and when nobody else is around, and she's helping me make some things. And I gotta admit pants is useful. Dresses and skirts don't got pockets and I kinda like pockets. You can keep neat things in them.  
  But pretending to be something I ain't... just ain't worth all the pockets ever made.  
  Pappy wants to wait until I'm eighteen. That's forever from now.  
  Maybe I'll get used to feeling like this.  
  Maybe it'll stop hurting.  
  Maybe... what I have will be enough.  
  Maybe if I wait long enough, a dream can come true.  
  I hope you get your dreams, too. And a lot sooner.  
  
  The twin Peters stared out at the world from their baby buggy. Iris was, of course, beautiful in a new dress and incredibly smug to have him walking beside her. His hand on hers, and hers piloting the baby buggy.  
  The automatons followed like large, metal ducklings. All in their black and red outfits. All stepping fancy with their new feet and their new shoes. Rabbit had the basket. The Spine had the blanket. Three carried a vase of flowers because he insisted on carrying something for the picnic and the freshly-named Hatchy already had the toys.  
  It was all very nice in the park. Looking for a spot to have their picnic.  
  Until a stranger passed the other way and felt compelled to say, just loud enough to be heard, "Harlot."  
  They may as well have stuck a knife in his heart. "Have a care," he demanded.  
  The automatons managed to fence the rude woman off. Their faces carefully and menacingly neutral.  
  "That was a rude word," said The Spine.  
  "That sort of thing hurts peo-ple," added Hatchy.  
  "Why's ya g-gotta hurt our ma, mister?" said Rabbit.  
  "Yah, why'd you do that, mister?" echoed Three.  
  Peter did his level best to boggle as he and Iris closed the circle. He knew for a fact that his automatons did their collective utmost to seem as human and natural as their servos allowed. This was the first time he'd seen them being deliberately mechanical.  
  Staring, unblinking, at the offender.  
  Getting purposely just a little too close to her.  
  Jerking and twitching whenever they moved.  
  Removing every single inflection from their voices.  
  Put all together, it was unsettling at the least, and terrifying at most.  
  The helpless and frightened lady turned away from the machines and stopped cold when she saw the very couple she'd hurled that slur at in the first place. She was very clearly confused by the choice between confronting the ones she purposely offended or answering to the suddenly alien automatons.  
  "Sir! Call off your... your... creatures!"  
  "I'd much rather hear an explanation as to your callous and cruel choice of words... 'mister'."  
  "Such impertinence! I am a *LADY* and you will address me as such."  
  And that was the moment that Iris chose to speak her piece. "A lady? However could we all tell? You certainly neither act nor speak like one."  
  "My automaton, Rabbit, is far more of a lady than yourself," Peter snapped.  
  Rabbit obligingly curtseyed for her.  
  "Release me at once! Let me on my way!"  
  Four automatons and two humans crossed their arms.  
  "Ap-ol-o-gize to our mo-ther," said Hatchy.  
  Trapped, she had to do so. It was barely audible to his ears, but sufficient for beloved Iris. Once Iris nodded, the automatons parted for the rude woman as if they had not just been holding her hostage. The Spine tipped his hat to her and said, "Ma'am," which only made her run away faster.  
  Their mechanical mien faded like so much mist and The Spine seemed very upset.  
  Peter went over to him to pat his shoulder. "It's too easy for people to be angry at anything they don't understand. You shouldn't have to feel bad because of that. Let's not ruin an otherwise lovely day."  
  
  Kazooland, on the other side of the dread portal on the Walter Estate, turned out to be friendly. Many creatures of fiction resided there and magic was real.  
  His automatons were right at home, with Rabbit skipping along in her frilliest dress. She had successfully argued that, since the portal was on Manor grounds, that made it 'home' and she could wear whatever she liked.  
  The abundance of bows and frills was something he could diplomatically bring up at another time. The poor deprived girl looked like a Faberge meringue.  
  Kazooland was also an education.  
  "Er," he murmured to Iris. "Those two ladies are... embracing rather intimately."  
  "Yes, dear. They're married."  
  "Women can't marry women."  
  "Your Delilah was already married to a woman when you met her. As I understand it, it's simply a matter of finding the right priest."  
  "Del--* Mar--* What?"  
  "You remember dear little Persica?"  
  "From the funeral, yes. She was in full widow's wee--" Realisation struck like a wrecking ball. His entire world shattered. He almost had a fit.  
  "Hatchy, I need an empty paper bag," said beloved Iris.  
  The next thing he knew, Iris and Rabbit were helping him breathe through a paper back and making calming noises while Three and Hatchy nursed the twin Peters on their laps.  
  When the multi-coloured confetti cleared from his eyes and he recovered his wits, he made the mistake of asking, "Is there anything *else* I need to know about?"  
  "Yes dear," said Iris. "Let's take things one at a time, shall we?"  
  "Oh... okay," he panted.  
  "Women can love women in more than the platonic sense."  
  "Yes. Thank you. I... I think I can absorb that."  
  "Men can also love men likewise."  
  "That... logically follows. Sauce for the goose and all." And his traitor mind went through every moment of his life when another man touched him, or he witnessed men coming into casual contact with each other. He really didn't need to. "Are there... ways of telling?"  
  "I think there's discrete gentlemen's clubs in various areas[2]. Don't try to infiltrate them for science, there's a dear."  
  "Well... yes. I suppose they'd have to. Now that I think of it."  
  "Good." Iris kept stroking his hand. Keeping him calm. "Ready for more?"  
  If it were anyone else telling him... he was certain he would not have handled it so well. He steadied himself for the news. "I remain strong."  
  Rabbit was standing nervously by with the paper bag.  
  "There's also people whose identity doesn't match their physical attributes," Iris stated.  
  "Like... Rabbit."  
  Iris applauded. "Yes, dear."  
  "And that happens to people too?"  
  "You've met Miss Green."  
  Blackness.  
  The Kazoolanders were very hospitable. Their furnishings were strange to his eyes, but, on the other hand, they were not at all disturbed by automatons, Iris or the twins. They evidently thought that he had fallen ill and sent one of their Mime/witches to tend his needs. What figures she was weaving in the air, he could not discern, but the results were incontestable.  
  "I... came over all giddy," he confessed.  
  The white-faced woman put an area of cold over his brow, then patted his hand and made her silent farewells.  
  Trying to touch his brow resulted in the sensation of a solid mass over his head. Rather like an ice-bag. Save this invisible ice-bag made the air where it sat spongey to the touch and slightly unpleasant to pierce.  
  "Don't do that, dear, you'll break it." Iris was feeding young Trike. "Mime magic," she added by way of explanation. "Your automatons are fascinated by it all, of course."  
  "Mimes."  
  "And clowns, vampires, fish mutants and many more. People can't help how they're made, darling. Not even here."  
  "Fish... mutants..."  
  "Three can understand them perfectly, but I've had... difficulty. They're so understanding, it might be hard to get the automatons to want to go back." She sighed and patted Trike's bottom. "I may have some trouble, too."  
  He hadn't heard a word of hate since he arrived. Nor felt any from the more silent citizens. "I completely understand," he said. "We must holiday here regularly."  
  And, for the first time since they met, all of her stresses fled her and her smile shone out of her like moonlight. _She's so beautiful when she's happy..._  
  
  Rabbit couldn't rest. The Spine's own bad dreams had roused her from her stasis and, after making sure The Spine had her own rag dolly for company, went looking for Pappy.  
  He wasn't sleeping with Ma.  
  He wasn't snacking in the kitchen.  
  But he was at his drafting table. Surrounded by drafts upon drafts upon drafts upon *drafts* of mechanical devices. Very familiar mechanical devices. One showed Rabbit, and an arrow pointing to a smaller, significantly more feminine Rabbit. It then showed a list of features and how much cubic space they took up.  
  Pappy was muttering to himself as his pencil flew across yet more pages. "Barrel length has to be..." mumble mumble mumble. "Generators have to be... No. No, no, no, no..."  
  "Pappy?"  
  He startled. "Oh. Hello, Rabbit. Did I wake you?"  
  "Naw. The Spine did that already. D-dummins don't want us t' know he got th' bad sights."  
  "What bad sights?"  
  "When we shut down. Our photoreceptors still see things. Most'a the time it's good stuff. All mixed up like Kazooland. And then there's th' b-b-b-bad ones. War. And th' dead green p-p-p-p-p-p-people wit' faces we know an' lo-lo-love."  
  "Dreams and nightmares," said Pappy. "You dream. All four of you?"  
  "Yeah. If that's what they are, then... I guess we dream." Rabbit shrugged. "T'cha doin', Pappy?"  
  "Trying to stuff twenty pounds' worth of features into a five pound bag," he sighed. "I did so very wrong by you, Rabbit. And most of it spilled out of my mouth."  
  "Aw, I knew ya didn't mean n-n-no harm. Ya just didn't know 'b-bout everythin'."  
  Pappy shuffled through the pages on his desk. "I did get as far as designing other faces for you. Trying to make my bone structure 'pretty' was alarmingly easy. I never knew I could be stunning..."  
  "You, Pappy?"  
  "Well. In case you didn't notice. I gave you and your brother The Spine my face." He handed over the sheet. "On one hand, it was easy to draught the substructures. On the other hand... well..."  
  So many Rabbit faces. So many different ways to put together cheekbones, noses, eyebrows and chins. "Wow. So-some of these are re-re-real nice."  
  "The remainder of your physicality is the problem. To make you... more you... I'd either have to strip out almost everything that runs you... or build you over from scratch and try to transfer your very consciousness to the new body. And the latter option may kill you."  
  "That ain't good," said Rabbit. "I like bein' alive. Even if I gotta be alive in the wrong shape. An' I like all'a my gadgets, too." Rabbit found a blanket and draped it around Pappy. "And you'll find a way when ya g-got some sleep. Ma's probably missin' ya. Y-y-y-you should get some snuggin's in before one of the li'l Petes wakes up."  
  "No. I have to fix this. I did you a horrid and horrible wrong, and must... HEY!"  
  Rabbit scooped him up in the blanket like a baby. "You got a lotta time, Pappy. I can wait. We was built t' last a-a-and everything." Rabbit started carrying him to the master bedroom.  
  "Rabbit, put me back. I have to fix this! I have to at least work out--"  
  "Nuh-uh. Not right away. You was right 'bout audiences not likin' change. We need t' get em good an' used to it 'fore we do anythin' big." A sly grin. "All'a them faces is gonna help, I b-b-b-bet."  
  "It isn't enough. It's not enough... Rabbit..."  
  She started rocking him as she moved. "Go to sle-sleep, Pappy. All good humans need their re-rest."  
  He fought his own heavy eyelids. "Rabbit, that is a trick for small children."  
  "Rock-a-bye Pappy," Rabbit sang, "in mechanical hugs... snugged up all tiiiiight, like a bug in a rug..."  
  "Th's 's almos' humilliatin'," he mumbled. And worse, because it was working.  
  He was half asleep by the time Rabbit removed his shoes and tucked him into bed with his wife.  
  
  Dear Rabbit, wrote Miss Green. Thank you for your kind invitation to stay in Kazooland, where they have magic for everything. I find myself less in need of it, lately, as I have found myself a family.  
  Your wish for me came true. I came across an abandoned child, left in a packing crate like so much garbage. And having been treated as such in my life, I felt an immediate sympathy.  
  She is now my daughter. At least until she feels any need to change her mind about that.  
  Alex can be both Alexander and Alexandria, I have found.  
  I am comfortable in my own way, my dear. I have no need of magic.  
  I already have my own.  
  (There was an included photograph of a small girl. She had a beautiful dress, made with care. She had neat hair, set up in ribbons. And she had a dark, blotched mark across most of her face.)  
  Rabbit kept that photograph, and many others, in her albums of memory. And cherished them all.  
  
  There was a street game going after their evening show. A crowd of children kicking a can to and fro and shrieking with fun.  
  Rabbit and Three stopped to watch.  
  The Spine paused just long enough to weigh up what was going on and murmured, "Don't try it."  
  Hatchy and Red Regret juggled the take into the truck.  
  Three could hear her growling. Not angry at them. Angry at what she could tell was going to happen.  
  But by then, the children had noticed them.  
  The game wound to a halt as, one by one, the group realised they had an audience. Automatons stared at children. Children stared at automatons.  
  One of the little girls put her thumb into her mouth. Another took up the ragamuffin doll she'd been holding by the arm and swapped her grip to a hug.  
  "Can we play, too?" squeaked Three.  
  A boy in denim overalls and wooden clogs ran up to Rabbit and kicked her in the shin.  
  Rabbit, new to a chassis that had damage sensors, winced and dodged away. "Ow," she complained. She'd never felt pain before that moment. "Why didn't Pappy warn me? It *hurts*..."  
  The boys pointed and laughed.  
  Three instantly comforted her. He had told Rabbit to test the new system by hurting herself, like he had, to make sure she knew what she was in for. But that wasn't as important as letting her know that she wasn't alone.  
  The girl with the doll hit the boy wearing clogs with her fabric companion. "You dummy! They ain't even two years old yet! They're babies! You *don't* kick babies!"  
  Realisation dawned. "Hey. We're two years old in a few months, ain't we, Rabbit?"  
  Sniff. "...yeah... Spine an' me in t-t-t-two. You in four. Ha-Ha-Hatchy in five."  
  Three smiled. "But we all decided on an official birthday, didn't we? When is that again?"  
  "...jan'ry twenny-second..."  
  "That's four months away," smiled Three. "We're gonna be two whole years old!"  
  "Are ya gonna have a party?" said the thumb-sucker.  
  "What's a party?"  
  All the children started talking at once. It all sounded wonderful. Decorations and cake and candles and the best thing they'd ever heard of... Presents!  
  Then there was an argument about whether they'd get a birthday at all because of... something... the children even argued what it was. Christmas. Yule.  
  Three and Rabbit got so bombarded with information that it became quite the jumble.  
  But the key word - presents - etched its way into their young, automatonic cerebellums.  
  And then Mister Reed blew the whistle that meant it was time to catch a ride home or walk home. So Rabbit and Three said their goodbyes and got into the truck for the ride home.  
  
  Peter knew they'd come home by the now-traditional swarm of excited automatons literally lifting him from his work and eagerly chanting, "Pappy! Pappy! Pappy!" until he granted one of them an audience.  
  He could not call them his 'boys' any more. One of them was his daughter. "All right, children. All right." He ducked the lintel as they carried him into the drawing room and enthroned him in his chair. "I think it's Three's turn, today. Am I right?"  
  It started with the chosen automaton, but if it was exciting enough, they'd all take turns while their mechanical sibling took a breath.  
  And judging by the way their eyes were literally lit up, today was going to be one of those days.  
  "We wanted to play a game with some other kids outside the theatre, tonight," began Three, getting his words out as quickly as he could manage. "And one of 'em kicked Rabbit but it's okay 'cause he didn't know it was bad and--(gasp)"  
  Rabbit took over, "And then they told us all about *b-b-b-birthdays*! A-and Yulemas!"  
  "And that's com-ing soon-er," said Hatchy.  
  "But then they said we might not get a... party..." The Spine checked the others to see if he'd got the new word right. "Because we're things. Not proper people."  
  "And 'cause of Yulemas," said Three. "They said that birthdays close to Yulemas never get to be birthdays."  
  Now he was confused. "What the devil is Yulemas, my darlings?"  
  It took them all of five minutes' worth of excited talking over each other for him to decipher that they were talking about Christmas. But it was evidently far too late to try and teach them otherwise. Something like this went straight to their permanent memory files.  
  Christmas was, now and forever in the Walter household, Yulemas. Santa Claus was now Saint Pappers Claus. An enchanting chimera of Saint Nicholas, Father Christmas, and Santa himself. He couldn't help but laugh. "Oh it sounds wonderful. We simply must have one, come December.  
  "December?" his automatons yawped.  
  "Aw, that's forever away," whined Rabbit.  
  "Well, if you insist on waiting until Yulemas for your present, Rabbit, I am forced to comply."  
  "Rabbit got a present?"  
  "Why'd Rabbit get a present?"  
  "Do we get one later?"  
  Rabbit fiddled with the buttons of her current coat. "If I say I want it now, does we g-g-gotta miss Yulemas?"  
  "Of course not," he smiled. "This is more in the nature of an apology present. Something to help Rabbit feel comfortable in herself when she's at home. A -ah- stopgap that should suffice. I hope. I find myself rather desperately terrified that I've got things exactly wrong. Again."  
  "Oh."  
  "Well."  
  "It's to make Rab-bit feel bet-ter."  
  "We don't mind."  
  "I'm sure it's okay, Pappy."  
  This time, he took Rabbit's hand in his to quell his own nervousness.  
  What if she didn't like it?  
  What if she was offended?  
  What if he'd mucked it up completely?  
  What if it upset her?  
  What if it irredeemably broke her heart?  
  In the minor lab with the forge equipment, was a box wrapped up in bright paper. With a festive bow on it.  
  He was trembling so hard that he had to sit at his old workbench. Peter took a deep breath as paper and cardboard alike tore in Rabbit's hands. Held that breath as Rabbit's copper face went agog. Prayed to a god he wasn't certain existed that this experience was a positive one.  
  "Oh, Pappy," whispered Rabbit.  
  Oh dear...  
  "They're... so... PRETTY!" Rabbit held her new... augmentations aloft for all to see. It was a good thing that he had worked out all his embarrassment about them and their configurations while he was drafting and experimenting with dear Iris' help.  
  He could breathe *out*. And he deserved further breath, after that.  
  "They go on like a vest, and fasten in the front," he said helpfully. His face still went hot through the forces of mortification. "And there's a little plug that should fit in through that gap in your sternum for -ah- sensation." He cleared his throat. "Understand of course, that playing with them in public is not at all seemly or proper."  
  Rabbit, already half-undressed, was actively squishing them in an uncomfortable-looking way as she followed his instructions.  
  Peter winced in sympathy as poor Rabbit discovered exactly how painful her own grip was. Thankfully, that episode was over quickly. "Lookit! They're spring-loaded!"  
  Peter did his best not to look. Even though he'd made them. Even though Rabbit was his daughter. That sort of display was... more than mortifying. He had to clear his throat ten times to find voice enough to say, "There's also an expanded wardrobe. Your mother helped significantly."  
  The happy chirping amongst all four of them was almost deafening. Of course Rabbit picked the frilliest, gaudiest, most flower-and-ribbon-strewn gown her mother could concoct within their current budget. Watching her skip and bounce and otherwise be completely happy could almost make him think he could pay the balance of his accidental cruelties to her.  
  Rabbit tied the parcel's ribbon around her head in a bow and made him consider getting wigs for them all. Assuming they would work without causing heat issues.  
  Then again, none of them seemed at all worried that they were bald.  
  Later concerns for later days.  
  Rabbit stopped dancing. "You're c-cryin', Pappy..."  
  He touched his face, shocked at the wetness. Men weren't supposed to cry, he was taught. but he'd wept at Iris' "I most certainly do," just as much as he'd wept over the fires in Egypt.  
  The world had wider experiences than the very few he'd been taught were possible.  
  "It's just some happiness leaking out," he managed. He used her stillness as an opportunity to hug her. Rabbit was always tall, but with a bosom, she seemed immense. "Don't you mind any of it."  
  
  Yulemas.  
  All his childrens' first celebration of the annual holiday. Three was allegedly singing 'Deck the Halls' and had yet to figure out where to stop singing the 'fa la la la la' part. Hatchy was rendering 'We Three Kings' into a million pieces and nobody minded at all. The Spine was happily playing saloon music on the grand piano because Saint Pappers Claus had given him the best cowboy hat in the world.  
  Rabbit looked good in ringlets and a bow. Even though Peter felt compelled to check her every five minutes to see if she was overheating at all.  
  Duo and Trike both solemnly piloted their push-toys towards every last obstacle they could find. Including the devising of a game seemingly called Let's Run Into Pappy's Ankles As Often As Possible And Then Laugh At His Faces. Now called to a halt because Pappy kicked his slippers off and tucked said ankles underneath him.  
  It was noisy and chaotic and a far, far cry from his imagined life of science he'd once dared to imagine with Delilah.  
  Yet his real wife, the different and practical and headstrong, dearest Iris... had done so much more for him from the get-go.  
  She caught him staring and smiled. "You look like a moonstruck calf," she informed. "Not that I'm complaining. I just thought you should know."  
  "It must happen whenever I gaze upon a truly worthy woman."  
  "Flattery will get you somewhere. If there's enough of it," she joked.  
  "Certain six is enough?"  
  "Do *you* volunteer to gestate them, sir?"  
  "I hear Kazoolander magic can make that a possibility," he offered.  
  She snorted. "You wouldn't last the first trimester."  
  He laughed. "Very possibly, my dear madame. Very possibly." He checked Rabbit again, playing at teaching her poppet how to read.  
  "Love you too, P-Pappy," she intoned. "I'm fine."  
  
  Iris watched dear Peter smile. There were a lot more smiles, when they didn't have to go out in the world and face the sharp tongues of the gossips. And, not for the first time, she wondered how much trouble it may cause to just pack up and move the entire house into Kazooland. Where nobody judged anyone - so long as anyone was not causing harm.  
  The Spine started up a jig.  
  Peter bowed to her. "Shall we dance?"  
  In all their time together, they had never gone dancing. "Certain your ankles can withstand the babies' assaults?"  
  "I shall have to dodge them in a highly spirited manner."  
  "Don't step on my feet."  
  "My dear, darling Iris, I would consider such action an offense to humanity as a whole!"  
  He danced surprisingly well, for a scientist.  
  It was enough to make her fall in love all over again.  
  
  Rabbit looked up from her playing. Good. Pappy had found something else to do. She put the doll and the book safely down and snagged Three by his mouth. "Let Hatchy have a turn, d-dummins. I wanna dance!"  
  "Okay," Three smiled. "Are we having a party, now?"  
  Rabbit considered this as she leaped about in a rough imitation of her parents' movements. "We got decorations. We g-got music. We got games. We got gifts. I reckon it's party enough."  
  "Oh good," said Three. "Then we're allowed to dance."  
  Rabbit twirled for the fun of it, and had to dodge a low-flying baby Peter. For tonight, all was good in the world.  
  Peace on Earth.  
  And goodwill to everyone who thought they were alive.  
  
[1] Pete's *very* isolated.  
[2] Historical fact: there were gentlemen's clubs for homosexuals. They were incredibly paranoid about not making themselves known to the public.  
  
END!


End file.
